The weekly Floridian. [volume] (Tallahassee, Fla.) 1867-19??, 1887-08-18
BEHIND THE COUNTER.
HELEN FOREST GRAVES.


trickling down the line of her spinal col
uinn. "Oh, wish l were rich girl
and didn't have to work?"
"Work is honorable, my child" said
old Uncle Wolsey, who, with his spectac.
les close on his nose, was trying to spell
through the illegible paragraphs of the
daily paper, muttering to himself that
"either they didn't print as good as they
used to, or else his old eyesight was fail
ing"
eyes, know" futtered Garry; "but
| am willing that some one else should
have the honor this time"
Uncle Wolsey turned his glasses with
mild reproach upon his niece's pink and
white balsam Of face.
81 wish | could be as brave as you.
Uncle Wolsey!' said Garry, as she tied
the crimson strings of her little capote un-
der her round chin.
Old Wolsey Wallingford had sheltered
his little pet lamb by his heart fold all her
lifetime until now. He was a jcweler by
trade, and had kept his unpretending
store open as long as possible. But the
tide of fashion went by, and left him
stranded on the unfrequented side street,
where the sign of the tarnished silver
watch attracted no further attention.
And one day, when he had sat all day
in the window with his magnifying glass,
working at some impossible old time
piece whose owner had died and never
called for it, the twilight crept darkly
over his eyesight and his heart. lie laid
down his tools.
"All day long," said he, "and never a
customer! Well-a-day! it is time for the
old man to shut up his store at last"
He went out and put up the wooden
shutters, with heart that was heavier
than they, and from that time thencefor-
ward the wooden imitation of the silver
watch had swung no longer over the
door.
Uncle Wolsey had been conquered in
life's battle, and had laid down bis arms,
and now it was that Garry threw herself
into the breach.
How could she let the dear old man
starve2 And Mr.. Pickrell's fancy and
dry goods store on Sixth Avenue was
really q very creditable establishment,
and Mrs. Pickrell herself had promised,
from the severe heights of the cashiers
desk, to "keep an eye" upon old Mr..
WalIingford's niece, and if her services
proved desirable, there was no sort of
doubt but that her salary would he in
creased in time.
So Garry buttoned up her sack, drew
on her neat lisle-thread gloves and took
the little basket, in which, wrapped in q
napkin, was packed her lunch of apple-pie
and cheese, and went forth to meet her
new career, little reckoning how brief it
was to be.
At first it was not very pleasant. The
store was small and stuffy, with gorgeous
piles of cretonne and chintz at the door,
and festoons of laces, silk handkerchiefs
and colored jerseys Tapping against the
heads of the girls behind the counter, of
whom there were three besides Garry
bold, high-voiced damsels, who wore their
hair down over the bridge of their noses
and giggled necessarily.
Customers came and went, change was
made and paper parcels expeditiously
wrapped up.
Mr.. Pickrell walked the floor with his
hands in his pockets, ordered away small
girls whose noses were fiattened too per-
sistently against the windows outside,
and smiled beamingly on old ladies who
stopped to examine the quality of the
chintzes and flannel suitings.
Mrs. Pickrell repremanded the young
women with the banged hair for giggling
too loud when there were customers in
the store, and called to Garry to "mind
what she was about" when box of rib
bons fell off the counter upon the floor.
Garry grew very weary, her head be-
gan to ache, and she wondered how long
It would be before shutting up time"
At last tall, brown-faced young man
came in, wearing foreign-looking coat
trimmed with fur, and somehow bearing
in his aspect the indescribable stamp OF
belonging to some other country.
One of the banged-hair nymphs was
eating her lunch the second had rushed
up the street to get change for ten-dol-
lar bill; and the third was engaged in
matching an impossible shade of ribbon
for a young lady who was determined not
to be pleased with anything.
"Carry!' shrilly shrieked Mrs. Pick
rell.
And our hero advanced gallantly to
the rescue.
"What can l show you ?" she asked,
timidly, of the new customer.
"Silk, please; )" said the young man.
And when Garry perceived that he was
considerably more embarrassed than her,
self, took courage.
"What color ?'' said she.
81 don't know" answered the custo-
mer-"t that isl haven't quite made up
my mind. Perhaps you could suggest"
"What is it forp" Garry asked, with
mild federation of his evident bewilder.
ment and at the same time she could not
help perceiving that he was very hand
some, with wavy black hair, and dark IL
quid eyes, long lashes and pleasant to
look upon.
For q dress ?"
"a dressp But is it for young lady,
or an old one ?'
81 don't know" acknowledged the
gentleman" young-that ID, not old.
She can't be over forty. To tell you the
truth"-and he smiled in spite OF himself
-"pve never seen the lady. But she Is
Q cousin Of mine, and ] want to make her
. present" aa s.s.l' :,
" Yes, / understand" said Garry. us
& h, h1nol~ -.